


Not his Fault

by Caroline



Category: Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-24
Updated: 2011-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caroline/pseuds/Caroline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A picture can tell a thousand words or jog a thousand memories.  Or maybe it needs to jog only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not his Fault

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I know nothing, I am claiming nothing. No disrespect or infringement is intended. This is a piece of fan fiction and should be treated as such.
> 
> Warnings: Not so implied but not necessarily described D/s
> 
> Authors note: Thank you to Caarirose for the beta and making this readable *hugs* . Written at part of raggedy_edge's [Sex is not the Enemy](http://raggedy-edge.livejournal.com/96208.html) ficathon over on lj.
> 
> [This](http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a115/xainiver/tumblr_kop4jhfOvK1qzzndpo1_500.jpg) was my prompt.

If he has to blame someone he's going to blame Isaac. After all it's easy to blame the guy with the camera and the one that's not there right now.

The one that's home with his wife.

After all if he hadn't posted that damn photo of Sutan doing his make up. Well, actually, of them cuddling if the truth be known. And if someone hadn't have started that 'life partners' shit between them, his brain probably wouldn't have put two and two together with his libido and come up six. Or sixty-nine even.

See, so not his fault.

And it's not his fault that he's been staring at that damned photo for the last hour, either, with his fingers hovering over the computer keys as he's typed and retyped an email – butter-fingered and trembling remembering what it felt like to have Sutan pressed against him, how his hands had felt resting on Sutan’s behind. How he'd ached for something that he hadn't felt in years, something he'd almost forgotten existed within him.

Hitting send he snapped his mac-book shut before he has a chance to change his mind or write something to retract what he'd just sent. Because somewhere at the back of his brain he knew that if he didn't do something now, he'd do nothing. And he just knew that could be the biggest mistake of his life. Though how he knew and understood that he didn't have a clue, so obviously had to be Isaac's fault – the man shared half his brain after all.

Well that was his excuse and he was fucking sticking to it.

His phone vibrated against the counter top a quick glance at the screen told him that his email had probably reached it's recipient. Suddenly he desperately needed a drink, at fucking ten in the morning and they're not on tour any more so he doesn't have an excuse. But that still doesn’t stop him from feeling as though he's crawling out of his skin and a shot, or three, of Jack would help.

But he's a good boy and doesn't.

Thumbing the message open, the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding escaped with a whoosh.

 _Oh, honey. Come over. The door will be open_

*~*

So yes maybe he had followed Sutan's suggestion and come over but that still didn't make it his fault.

Nor was it his fault that he'd let Sutan lead him into his front room and sit him down on the sofa, giving him something long, sweet but somehow calming and non-alcoholic to drink. Also it wasn't his fault when Sutan had sat next to him and watched quietly while he finished his drink, not saying a word 'cept to raise an eyebrow when he'd gone to put his drink down unfinished. That had him finishing it, without a word being said between them.

Well, okay maybe it was his fault - he was an adult after all, and supposed to know what he was doing. But how had this gone from not being his fault to whatever the hell is actually going on he didn't know.

Or if he did he sure as hell wasn't going to admit to it.

As his glass touched the coffee table, Sutan's hand curled around his wrist tugging him from being sat next to him to being sprawled in Sutan's lap. Which, honestly, didn't have him making a small sound suspiciously like a whimper, nor did it have him burying his head against Sutan's chest either.

And no he wasn't absolutely blushing, it was just a trick of the light and the fact that Sutan's place wasn't exactly cold.

No, really it wasn't him, it was all a figment of someone else's imagination.

And so were the words that come tumbling from his lips when Sutan simply asked him what he needed. It had been too long, too long since he'd had someone in his life that understood, someone that he felt safe enough with to let go.

As though being curled up here on Sutan's lap gave him a safety net, a catch all - that anything he said wouldn't go any further than here, and them. That the gentle hand carding through his hair, brushing softly up over the skin of his arms; stopping occasionally just so a finger can follow the outline of a tattoo was helping to ease his words.

That Sutan was creating this bubble round them; hiding them from the outside word. Safe, quite and just them.

*~*

Okay, so it might just have had something to do with him when Sutan quietly asked him if he knew what a safe word was and if he has one. Not to mention the fact that he does actually know and does have one. Though it’s from years back and one that he'd never done anything with.

Which brings another 'oh honey' whispered softly into his ear as Sutan is helping him up so they are both standing, with him still curled into Sutan's side.

Again fingers feather lightly over his skin as first his and then Sutan's shirts are removed, and he's softly told that this time they'll use the colour system and after that they'll talk about it some more.

And, no, it's not the promise of more that has that fine tremor skating over his skin like butterfly wings. Really, it's not.

Any more than the snick and rasp of Sutan slipping his leather belt free from the denim of his jeans draws a soft whimper from him.

After all none of this is his fault. He didn't post that damned photo.

*~*

So what if it's the taste of leather against his skin that actually does draw the admittance of really needing this from him?

It's something that only he and Sutan need know.

At the end of the day it doesn't matter who started this, all that matters is that they found their way to each other somehow.

And really, maybe, at some point he ought to buy Isaac a drink.

~ End ~

**Author's Note:**

> Written and posted January 2011


End file.
